


Her Proof

by HandwithQuill



Series: Her Proof [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2014-06-16
Packaged: 2018-02-04 21:11:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1793350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandwithQuill/pseuds/HandwithQuill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another fill for Repeatinglitanies “Burned Back” prompt from Tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Proof

Belle didn’t want the last patrons of the Library to see she was watching the clock, but she couldn't help glancing at it as she re-shelved the last of the books for the night. She had already straightened up the Kids section and logged out of her computer, so the only thing left to do for the night was put away the books she read in between helping people select books. Finished with that, she returned to the circulation desk and picked up the book she intended to take home with her. It was only ten minutes until close. 

When eight of the minutes had passed, she looked over the edge of her book at the last two people loitering at one of the tables. Mrs. Grimsby and Mrs. Havoc still had their knitting laid out on the table, gossiping away. She sighed, wondering if they would pack up if she went and started to sweep the floor near them. She stayed open late on Wednesday nights for the Kitting group, but they usually left a little after eight, not it was one minute to nine. She didn't want to have to tell the them to leave, but she really wanted to get home. 

She closed the book and realized that she wouldn't have to as the women were packing up. She sighed much happier this time and went to her office to collect her coat and bag. She flipped the lights off as she made her way back to, but stopped just inside the stacks at something she over heard one of the women say. 

“She's such a nice girl,” Mrs. Grimsby said sadly. “Such a shame.” 

Belle frowned, even as she knew what was coming. 

“Yes, I'm sure she was happy to stay out a little longer, anything not to have to-well, I'm sure it helped. Such a shame.”

Belle gripped the shelf next to her and took a few deep breaths and let them out slowly, so that when she reached them a smile would be on her face. After four years, she knew nothing she said would change the minds of the town that she didn't not mind being married to her husband. She knew she couldn't change their minds, but she would have to do something about them keeping her at the Library unnecessarily. But no tonight.

She escorted the women out and locked up, making sure both women cars started before making her way to her own. She looked down the street before she go into her car, unerringly finding her husband's shop. The lights were off, but she drove by just to check that he wasn't in the back. He wasn't, so, she drove home, mind thinking back to when she entered his shop four years ago.

_He had been standing behind the counter, polishing something at the counter when she walked in, he looked up as her and she squared her shoulders before walked forward. “I have deal for you, Mr. Gold._

_“Really, Miss French.” His eyebrow raised._

_“Yes,” she nodded. “You always say that if two people have something the other wants, a deal can always be made.”_

_“True,” he said with an incline of his head, “I assume what you want has something to do with your Father's debt to me and the fact that his is late with this months payment, but what do you have that I could want?”_

_“The gossip mill in town in rampant with speculation, but there is usually at least a grain of truth in it somewhere. If there is any truth about the inquiries you have supposedly been making, I'd be willing to do it.”_

_He blinked, mouth falling open a little, before it thinned and he stood straighter. She grinned a little at surprising him._

_“What exactly are you proposing, Miss French?”_

_“Just that. If there is any truth to the rumor that you are having trouble with immigration, I'll marry you. I was young enough when Papa and I moved here that I have full citizenship. And in return, you will let Papa's pay double next month. You will also not increase the interest on the loan and give him a three day grace period for the life of the loan.”_

_“You....don't want me to forgive it all?” His eyes narrowed in confusion._

_“No,” she shook her head. “Papa got himself into this mess, he can get himself out. I know you don't care, but there was extenuating circumstances that led to him being late this month.”_

_“You don't seem to get much out of this deal, Miss French. What's in this for you?”_

_“I-” She looked down at her hand, clenched together on the glass counter, her thumb rubbing over the scar on the back of her right hand, before looking back and staring him in the eye.“I have my reasons, Mr. Gold.”_

_He held her gaze for a few heartbeats, before he nodded. “I'll pick you up at 7 tomorrow.” She blinked. “We can not simple get married, immigration will never buy it. I'll take you to dinner tomorrow, where every you wish.”_

_“It's a deal, Mr. Gold.” She held out her hand. He took her hand._

_“Ethan,” he said, raising her hand to his lips, “And I believe it's a date.”_

Pulling into the drive way pulled her out of the memory. Of course the town never understood. Many tried to convince her it was a mistake, tried to remind her of what a monster he was. She just shook her head at them, told them that she decided her own fate, because she knew. She had always know, deep down, just what kind of man he was. 

When she entered the house, the only light was coming from the hall light upstairs. She hung up her coat, dropped her key in the bowl by the door and quietly made her way upstairs. She pushed open the door the their bedroom and smiled at what she saw.

He husband lay on the bed, on his stomach, naked except for the sheet the covered him bum. He had one arm under the pillow his head rested on and his hair was still wet from his shower. She toed off her shoes as she unbuttoned her blouse. She tossed it towards her hamper and shimmed it of her skirt before throwing it and her stockings to join her blouse. 

She sat on the bed near his feet. With tentative caresses, she followed the silvery-white lines of scar tissue away from his ankle. Slowly moving up the bed, she skipped over what the sheet hid and bit her lip as she decided where to start. The lower left was where she picked and trailed her fingernail along the puckered skin. She avoided the still red patches and moved up his left, along his shoulders, down his right side, and over his tailbone to where she started. 

Once done, she got her knees under her and braced her hand on each side of him and followed the path her fingernail just forged with her lips. Lips and tongue caressing each and every burn mark that riddled his back.

“Belle?” he asked, sleepily.

“And just who else would be crawling into bed with you, Husband?” she asked as he rolled over.

“No one,” he said, reaching out for her, “Only you are crazy enough for that.”

She didn't answer him, but kissed him instead, hands caressing his chest, moving down to pull the sheet out of the way, before caressing what was under it. 

“Something you want, Wife?”

“Not at all,” she smirked at him. He snorted and rolled them. He opened his mouth but she kissed him again and kept kissing him until she gasped as he slid in. As they moved, her hands traced his back, roving over the places she had kissed. 

These were hers. Her proof, proof that the town was never allowed to see, that he was the man she always know he was. Because when she was eight, no one else in town had been willing to run into the burning building she was trapped in, no one else had ripped up his shirt to wrap her burnt right hand and no one else had shielded her with his body when the roof collapsed on them. 

Only him. And that was more proof then anyone should need.


End file.
